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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339673">Seal My Fate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91'>notalone91</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>LoserFest 2021 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(not between richie and eddie though), Adult Losers Club (IT), Infidelity, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Secret Relationship, angsty, eddie is in the middle of a divorce here, mopey richie, richie gets drunk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:28:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,532</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie is tired of dirty little secrets.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>LoserFest 2021 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Seal My Fate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 9: Inspired by a track from Lover (Cruel Summer)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bar was great.  The Losers all being in the same city was a rare but welcome occasion.  But, with Bill in town for a writing session and pitch meeting for a dark comedy he and Richie were working on, Bev teaching a seminar at FIT, Ben working remotely, Stan in town for a conference and nailing down details of their online company with Eddie, Mike had decided that, apparently, New York was the place to be and headed there immediately.  They were ushered to a table in the back, comforted by the vague anonymity of New York.  Too many people for anyone to really give a fuck who they were.  Just let me eat my chicken piccata in peace was the consensus.  Richie, however, wasn't interested in food.  He was much more interested in drinking until he could hardly remember his own name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie left first, the Uber queued up by the time he hit the curb.  "Matheus?" he asked in the open window.  Only when he heard his destination parroted back to him did he enter.  Bev and Ben were staying at an apartment within walking distance.  Mike would be staying at Bill's, of course.  Stan and Richie were last.  Heading in completely opposite directions, Richie walked Stan to the downtown A and waited until he got on, carefully avoiding his questioning stare.  Once back at ground level, Richie- still far too aware for his own taste- hailed the first cab he saw and hopped in. "48th and 8th, please."  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as the lights of the city bled into one another.  He knew what he was going home to and he really wasn't ready for it.  Stopped at a red 3 blocks from his apartment, he leaned forward to the glass.  "Actually, can you just drive around?  Take the long way?"  The guy looked at him in the rearview mirror questioningly.  "Look, take your time, at least another 15 minutes and I'll tip you 100%."  The driver shrugged and returned his eyes to the road.  No answer was better than small talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was amazing, he thought, how things could get so out of time.  A one-time thing from a shitty little piano bar on the lower west side where exactly no one would be looking for a shitty comedian with a dirty little secret turned into a good hook-up for casual sex whenever he's on the east coast.  The guy was hot and usually down for anything.  He was bossy and short and felt familiar enough that Richie started opening up to him and he started opening up to Richie.  After a year of no strings attached, they started to become something more.  Richie had had suspicions, but when the guy said that he was the only one he was sleeping with he didn't push.  2 months later, when the guy told him he was married, had been since he was in college, but had never slept with her, things started to click.  This guy was so far in the closet, there was a compact, uptight man-shaped hole on the far wall behind the coats and spare towels.  Even though, initially, he'd been so mortified that he hightailed it for the opposite side of the country and ignored the guy's calls, he forgave him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He understood.  Sort of.  Coming out was scary.  Only Richie’s innermost circle knew about his sexuality.  His manager, his publicist, and his agent decided that, with his image and fanbase, it was something that should be hidden.  It could ruin his draw.  When he suggested that maybe his image should shift to suit his needs, they'd scoffed.  He was buried too deep in the Trashmouth shtick.  There was no way out.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he flew back east to finish up a round of meetings and to patch things up.  He stayed.  Through it all.  Even though the guy never left his wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Mike called.  He was out of town, doing a show in Chicago.  As the memories flooded in, so too did the cortisol and adrenaline.  He had been standing outside of his dressing room, then ducked out the nearest exit door to spill the contents of his stomach over the railing of the fire escape.  He gripped the white cold metal with white knuckle intensity.  He couldn’t place the fear, but it didn’t matter.  He had a show to bomb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Less than 24 hours later, he had Bev and Ben in his arms and- fuck.  How had he forgotten them? They made their way into the private dining room and he and found himself face to face with his boyfriend of all people.  He started to mouth out the word what and then, it hit him.  He fought the urge to puke again, instead choosing to redirect Eddie’s focus to Ben.  They laughed and joked like they didn’t know each other and, all the while, Richie thought he might die there.  Just stroke out at the table.  With Stanley on Richie’s right and Ben on Eddie’s left, there was virtually no buffer to their banter.  Richie thought, maybe, pressing him about his wife was taking it too far, but when Eddie snapped back, he knew it was fine.  He almost broke, calling out for him when the room broke into its tricks.  And again, standing in the parking lot, so close he could smell the cologne he bought him for his birthday the year prior.  And again in the bar at the Inn.  When they finally decided to get some sleep, that was when it happened.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one raised an eyebrow at the two of them vanishing into Eddie’s room behind a closed door.  Old habits.  Nothing to see.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turned out, they probably would have had quite a shock seeing the way Richie chased Eddie down hungrily.  Needy hands tore at buttons and zippers and hems until they gave way one way or another.  Eddie hitched his hips up toward Richie.  There was a different charge to their practiced rhythm.  Richie’s nails dug into Eddie’s arms.  Eddie bit a little harder at Richie’s collar bone.  He gasped when Richie flipped him onto his knees, taking him by surprise.  They were already on edge, so Eddie knew he was going to be quick.  “I can’t believe it’s you,” Eddie mewled as Richie started working him open with practiced fingers.  “Fuck, I’m so glad you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stopped and looked down at him, naked and beautiful so much different but somehow the same.  His New York confidence surged, but there was now a shadow of all of those childhood fears.  Derry was already getting to him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And soon, so was Richie.  His usual dirty talk was minimal, but still there and really, really working for Eddie.  Once he had slid himself inside, he wrapped himself around Eddie, one hand working down towards his length.  The other slid up to his chest before coming to rest on his hip.  He kissed the back of his shoulder and found his mind starting to wander.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He willed himself to stay in the moment.  This room could have been any hotel in any town in the country where Eddie had flown out to see him perform and wanted to play psycho stalker fan, one of Richie’s favorites, or Strangers, one of Eddie’s.  “You look so gorgeous, worked up and ready.  You still want me, don’t you?” he teased, knowing from the precome leaking into his hand that that was more than abundantly obvious.  “You’re not embarrassed to be fucked by the same person who f-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie snaked one hand up into Richie’s hair.  “Shut up, you loser,” he said, twisting slightly to kiss him.  That was enough for Richie, moaning as he sucked Eddie’s bottom lip between his own.  Even as the pace of his thrusts became more erratic, his hand stayed steady, easing them both over the edge together.  They fell back into the bed, spent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curled around Richie, Eddie felt more at peace than he should have.  They were all together.  It was good that they were all together.  It was better that he got to have Richie with him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jarring Richie out of his daydream, a doo-wop song filtered out of his phone.  Eddie’s frantic voice burst through, asking if he was okay, was there a crash.  “I'm fine.  I'm-” he sighed and covered his eyes with one hand.  “No, Eds, I swear I'm fine.  Yeah.  No, I just wanted to make sure Stan got to his hotel okay.”  He pulled the phone away from his ear and let himself not listen to it.  “Yeah.  I'll be there.  Yup.  Okay.  The cab driver glanced at him questioningly.  Richie nodded, “Yeah, fine, whatever.  You can drop me off now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car stopped in front of his apartment and he stepped out.  He nodded at the doorman on his way by and offered a half-smile.  He pushed the elevator button and made his way up to his floor.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.  Fancy seeing you here,” Eddie said with a cheeky smile.  He stood with his arms crossed just beside the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keys jingling as he missed the lock once- twice- three times, he mumbled, “I live here.”  It was a halfhearted reiteration of the fact that he had offered for Eddie to move in with him at least a half a dozen times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a coincidence,” Eddie said, sliding his hand up Richie’s bicep.  “So does the guy I'm seeing.”  He leaned up on his toes and braced himself for a good, deep kiss.  That was the way it worked.  They’d go out with their friends and they wouldn’t be able to touch or kiss or anything at all, but as soon as they’d get back to one of their apartments, it was game on.  It was usually hot, all that pent up energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what a waste of a second cab fare,” Richie answered back in the loudest way a person could ever roll their eyes.  Finally getting them in, he dropped his keys in the bowl by the door, kicked off his shoes, and headed into the bedroom.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie followed behind him.  “Richie…” he said, a desperate cry to his voice that he hadn’t intended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Eds.  Don't,” Richie scoffed, flicking one hand upward and unbuttoning his shirt with the other and dropping it unceremoniously to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From where he stood in the doorway, Eddie groaned.  “We've talked about this.  We're only a block away from my ex-wife here.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he reached up and yanked his t-shirt over his head, Richie added, “I’ll move.”  It was only half a bluff.  If that was all it took, Richie would be in the SoHo or Queens or where the fuck ever tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just…” Eddie said, practically folding in on himself.  “Until everything is finalized, I don’t want to rub it in.  That was part of the agreement.”  He couldn’t help but watch as Richie stepped out of his jeans and underwear before retrieving a pair of ratty old pajama bottoms an old t-shirt from the dresser.  Still, he added, “Richie, you agreed to all of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t agree to shit,” he snapped, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shower was not going to keep Eddie from this conversation.  He barged right in, despite Richie’s shocked protesting.  “You did,” he insisted and sat cross-legged on the toilet while Richie moved around him.     “No, this isn’t the fucking hammock, okay.  You don’t get to fight that because it wasn’t written that it’s not real.  I told you that I wanted to do this right.  I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have.”  Even through the rushing water, Eddie could hear Richie’s indignant scoff.  “And, I know.  I know you hate her and I know how awful she is and I know.  I know all of that.  But I’m doing this to get a sense of myself back.  And I need to not feel like a monster when I already know that makes me the bad guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rinsed the soap off his face, then took a step away from the water.  “You’re not the bad guy.  Relationships end.  It happens,” he assured.  He went back to working the lather of shampoo through his hair.  “Okay.  So, why can't we tell everyone else?  I see Bill every day.  Every day.  I work so closely with him.  And he's Bill for fuck’s sake.  You remember Bill, right?  Your first friend in the world.”  He rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower and tried to center himself.  He rinsed out his hair, then moved onto his body.  When he was done, he shut the water off and opened the curtain.  “It can't be easy for you, either.  You just opened a business with Stan, my first friend ever!”  He listed each of them out, realizing more and more as he spoke how stupid keeping it from them was.  He grabbed a towel and started to dry himself off.  “And what about Bev and Ben?  And Mike, for fuck’s sake.  The man demands daily updates from all of us to make sure we're not forgetting.  How is he gonna react when, one day, one of us says, oh, and by the way, Eddie and I have been seeing each other for 5 years on the sly but only realized who the other one was when we went back to Derry, and now we're actually-” he wanted to say together.  He wanted to say a lot of things, but he couldn’t come up with anything that summed up the mess they’d made.  Instead, he settled on, “whatever this is, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie-”  Eddie stared at the floor.  He clammed up, letting himself get trapped with the thoughts of which he couldn’t let go as Richie stepped into his pajamas.  “I can't- not yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Offering Eddie a hand he tugged him to his feet, then asked, “Can we at least figure out what this is?”  If nothing else, that would quell his fear that it was going to crumble away.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t anything he could do but hug him.  Wrapping Richie in his arms as tightly as he could.   “It's us.  Does there have to be a label?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Richie nodded.  “Yeah, I think there does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That stunned him.  “Why?  There never needed to before.”  That was true.  In every iteration of their relationship, they’d never spoken about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was one before,” Richie said with a bitter laugh.  “An affair.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smarted a little.  He started to try to argue.  He hated that term.  It sounded so dirty and wrong.  It didn’t take anything into account the intricacies of adult relationships.  Still, he thought back over the guilt and the fear of Myra finding out.  Yeah.  He wasn’t going to argue.  There was no changing that it, at the very least, looked bad.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was your mistress.  I was the person whose bed you left to go back to your wife.  I knew it, and I wasn’t okay with it, but I accepted it because it was how I got to have you.”  He shook his head, only realizing as he said it how pathetic it sounded.  Still, it was the truth.  But with circumstances being what they were, it didn’t have to be that anymore.  “Now, there's so much more to it.  I would never change what happened-” he fought with that statement, realizing it wasn’t strictly true.  “Unless we got to go back stay together as teenagers and maybe fucking get to be what I wanted to be from the start,” he said, retreating back into the bedroom and sitting on the bench at the foot of his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't want to keep secrets again, Eds.”  He shook his head sadly, drying the water off of his glasses.  “This isn’t fun anymore.”  “It was fun when we were teens and I was jumping the fence in your backyard to climb in through your bedroom window, but even that lost its shine when we got too scared of your mom finding out.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was true.  He spent every night the summer after It plagued by nightmares.  So did Eddie.  Their friends were dropping like flies.  Bev left before school started.  By the end of the year, it was just the two of them and Mike, whose grandfather never had allowed for him to switch to Derry High, so they’d grown closer and closer.  But every time Eddie had a nightmare, he’d wake up and, without fail, he’d see an upstairs light from the house at the other end of his backyard flick on, then a shape would make its way out of the window.  He never asked how Richie knew, but without fail, he was there.  He’d take the back fence at a run, then climb up the back porch onto the roof of the shed, and into Eddie’s room, where he’d stay until morning.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d gotten so wrapped up in each other, Eddie had forgotten to ask Richie to be his boyfriend.  It was just sort of assumed between them.  Sleeping at opposite ends of the bed turned into tangled limbs and pins and needles after sleeping with one arm under the next person.  Goofy slap fights turned into hands held, then other, more intimate uses for those same hands.  Teasing and torture never really stopped, but other, more gentle conversations worked their way in with hushed voices in the pre-dawn light.  Clothes worked their way into the wrong dresser, books to the wrong shelf, music to the wrong rack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But not a word was spoken about it.  It was their own.  Derry would have eaten them alive if they dared to be in love and happy.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don't need to keep fucking doing this,” Richie groaned, standing up and pacing.  “Maybe I'm insane, right?  Doing the same shit and expecting it to be” different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.  That's fine, then.  I leave my wife for you and you can't take things at-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOU DIDN'T LEAVE HER FOR ME!” Richie cried out.  He tried not to raise his voice.  Still, he couldn’t let that go.  “God!  If you had, you'd have left her 3 fucking years ago when you realized you were never attracted to women and you thought you might be falling for me!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered the conversation, twisted in a bed in some hotel in midtown.  They’d finished round two and were well and truly spent, basking in the nearness to one another when Eddie had said it.  Richie had been gone a month.  A whole month without being on the east coast for even a night.  Eddie had been so sure that he’d forgotten him.  He was starting to feel fuzzy himself.  He had pressed a kiss to Richie’s still sweat-slick shoulder and looked up at him.  “I could get used to this.  I like having you around.”  He pulled back a little.  “I don’t think I ever loved her-” he said quietly, realizing how awful it sounded.  “I don’t actually think I was ever even attracted to her.  Or any woman for that matter.  I think I had a boyfriend when I was a teenager, or close to it.  But then I went to college and my mother was putting all of this pressure on me to find a nice girl to take care of me.”  He scoffed, then rolled into Richie.  “When she died, we eloped that weekend.  I didn’t want to spend another minute worrying about what my mother thought.  But…”  He picked a spot over Richie’s head and stared.  “Yeah, I never wanted her.  I wanted to be safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nodded understandingly and rolled onto his side to face Eddie.  “I know we don’t-” he said, looking down as he realized how stupid that sounded, then restarted.  “I know that we’ve never… but you could leave her, you know?”  As soon as it was out of his mouth, he realized how desperately he actually wanted that.  He propped himself onto his elbow.  “You could, you know.  Then, you could really be free to do whatever,” he said, then added sheepishly, “or whoever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was where the conversation ended.  Eddie had laughed and mauled him, taking that as an invitation and the subject was put away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, you didn't.  It never gets that far anymore,” Richie said, trying to recall the last time they’d talked about it.  When Eddie decided to get a divorce, he’d done it on his own.  He hadn’t even told Richie until after his lawyer had started talking to hers.  And then everything had gone back to normal.  “God, why are we still doing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to end this?  If you're not happy-” he said, stepping back and ready to give in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!  I don't want to end this.  I fucking love you.  For whatever that's worth,” he let his hands drop to his sides, finally feeling much soberer than he had in hours.  “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie was stunned to silence.  Richie said it to him frequently.  It would never cease to amaze Eddie to hear that assurance, especially in the middle of a fight.  Myra would only ever come close to it in a fight with “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” and “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”  Never anything that made him remember what he was fighting for.  Just guilt and manipulation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's the worst fucking part, Eds.  I love you so much I can hardly stand it and you don't love me and I still stay.”  He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling.  “And I’ll keep staying because I love you too much to live without you.”  He doesn’t need to bring up Derry.  His temporary insanity at the thought of losing Eddie and having to leave him there had been well indoctrinated into their teasing by then.  He started stripping the extra pillows from his bed and peeled down the covers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nearly tripped over his own feet as he moved to stack the pillows neatly.  “What?” Richie asked, not sure he’d heard him right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that he’d never said it to Richie wasn’t lost on Eddie.  When they were younger, he was afraid of what it would mean; of what type of life that would leave him if he was going to be in love with a boy.  Even at 15, he knew that loving Richie would be all-consuming.  When they’d first re-met, it was terrifying.  Loving Richie would open Very Scary doors that he wasn’t ready for at all.  In Derry, he couldn’t do it.  He’d wanted to.  He’d fought off every impulse to because he thought that if he admitted that he loved him then, not only would everyone knew that they’d had time together in the interim, but that it would make it more likely that one or both of them wouldn’t be getting out of Derry alive.  He had been so close to being right, that one of them almost didn’t.  In the weeks that followed, even as he healed at a superhuman pace, one thought remained recurring.  He could have died and, he wasn’t sure that Richie would know that he loved him.  How could he when he’d never, never said it.  He agreed to himself that he would fix it soon.  He just had to make sure that, when he did, it could be just them.  Now, he had no reason.  Sure, legally, he was still married to Myra, but not for long.  No matter whether his no-fault papers or Myra’s spiteful ones stating abandonment and homosexuality, but thankfully never infidelity- somehow that went under the radar- went through.  There was no excuse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of the things they had put in place to protect their lifestyles didn’t matter much.  Richie was free of his old management team and working solely for himself.  Eddie was practically divorced.  They could do it.  They were free to love one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.  I know I've never said it.  I've told you that I didn’t want to if I couldn't be with only you.  I'm only with you,” he said, stepping toward Richie and reaching for his hand.  Richie hesitated, then let him.   “I love you.  I've known that for sure since the two weeks you snuck me on tour with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie had to stop and think about that.  He remembered those two weeks perfectly clearly. They had made some good memories that trip.  Dodging paparazzi, fucking in green rooms, and men’s rooms at clubs, in cars… Anywhere they could get each other alone.  They’d also learned so much about each other and grown more comfortable with the more emotional aspects of their relationship.  “That-” He flipped through the memories, trying to come up with a timeframe.  It was so long ago.  “Eddie, that was-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiled and stepped closer.  “4, maybe 5 months in?  Yeah,” he picked their hands up and kissed Richie’s knuckles, already feeling so much lighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you didn't say anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head.  “I couldn't.  Before we went back, I legitimately couldn't.  I tried.  I wanted to.”  He looked up at Richie’s bright eyes, suddenly much clearer than the storm clouds he’d rolled in with.  “Then I was scared, now I'm terrified.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of what?” Richie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being this vulnerable.  What happens now.  How other people are going to react.  If it’s going to last. What’s going to change.  The list went on, but instead, he simply answered, “Do I have to have a reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugged.  “I mean, I guess not.  But-” he trailed off.  He wanted to know.  That was his curse.  He wanted to know everything.  He always wanted to know everything, but especially when it was Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he said again, this time leaning up and finally getting the kiss he’d wanted at the door.  “That doesn't fix this, I know, but please, please believe me when I say that I will do anything to try.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small smile broke over Richie’s face.  “Like?” he asked, voice low and drawing the word out suggestively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie felt himself ease.  He reached up and rested his hand gently on the side of Richie’s neck, focusing him on the words he was saying.  “Like anything.”  He really truly meant it.  He’d been expecting something over the top.  He was willing to move mountains to figure it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to tell the Losers.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a simple request and it took Eddie all of 10 seconds to send out a text.  “Brunch tomorrow before Stan leaves?”  Immediately, there were a bunch of responses about where and when.  He looked up at Richie who was watching the group chat as it spiraled in his hands.  “I’m planning on wearing Richie out tonight, so why don’t we do potluck style at his place around noon.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed.  It was a page out of his book and he was proud.  They watched for a moment as the Losers started screaming at each other in all caps.  Richie took the device and turned it off.  “You said something about wearing me out?”</span>
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